


You Know Where I Live

by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, also my heart hurts after writing this, i really need someone to take my computer away, i think i'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:46:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly/pseuds/brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey's house is kind of empty. It sucks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Know Where I Live

There wasn’t much to distinguish Milkovich residence from any of the other houses in the neighbourhood. Same roof missing a few odd tiles, same rundown yard, same prospects for the people living inside. The only real difference was what happened inside the house.

Because in that house that had never been a home, lived a monster. A monster that drank too much, and who hurt his children; he dished out backhands for his sons, and ugly, cloying touches for his daughter.

For a long time, that was all Mickey and his siblings had known. Terry had been this larger than life figure, and their entire lives had revolved around him.

_My dad will kill me if he finds out._

_Don’t act like you know a fuckin’ thing about my dad._

God, it’d all been so fucking heavy. Everywhere Mickey had gone, he’d had his father’s weight pressing down on his chest, the visceral fear of Terry’s rage beaten into him from a young age.

Then, something had changed. Mickey had changed.

It hadn’t been some sudden thing; he’d never be able to pinpoint when exactly it’d happened. But before Mickey could think to stop it, his entire world had changed orbit; instead of revolving around the heat of Terry’s rage, it now centred around the warmth of Ian’s smile. It was stupid, _Mickey_ was stupid, but it didn’t matter.

_I’ll meet you there in twenty._

_You wanna spread out a blanket, an’ look for shootin’ stars next?_

_Don’t... Just—_

_Of course, we are._

All of it had piled up until Terry was... nothing. His reaction was nowhere near as terrifying as the thought that maybe Ian would walk away again, and not come back this time. Mickey would face the full force of his father’s anger, just so long as Ian didn’t leave him again.

So Mickey had taken that leap. Watching Ian’s retreating figure, he’d said the words that he prayed would make Ian turn around.

_I just want everybody here to know I’m fuckin’ gay._

Chaos had ensued; sometimes, Mickey’s nightmares would echo with the sound of his father’s infuriated screams. Fists had been flying, and he’d been able to taste blood in the back of his throat. Perverse as it was, each time Terry landed a punch, the accompanying pain felt like freedom.

Because he’d said it. Mickey had told a whole crowd of people who he was.

No more hiding, no more shame. And, as the police cruiser had driven off with Terry inside it, no more fear.

The weeks after had been like nothing Mickey had ever experienced before. Freedom to be with Ian; a house with so many ugly memories had started to become a home.

And then Ian had gotten sick. Now there was a new fear: Ian was different. Impulsive and angry, or loud and laughing; the worst was when he couldn’t make himself get out of bed. The extremes weren’t an everyday thing, and that was almost worse. Not knowing what to expect, or how to handle whatever did come had left Mickey uncertain, walking on eggshells.

Mickey had tried to hide from it, the same way he would’ve hidden from Terry’s ire. But he couldn’t anymore; Ian was too important.

_Don’t touch me._

_You’re sick_.

Terror as Ian had taken Yevgeny, and run. It was like pulling out one of the support beams on a derelict building; the structure had creaked and groaned under the pressure, Svetlana’s voice raising the rafters, as she’d demanded to know what had happened to her son.

The anger that was never far away from the Milkovich house resurfaced with a vengeance. Lana didn’t want Ian back in the house; to Mickey, it wasn’t even a question. Of course, Ian would be coming back.

Except... Ian never did come home.

Sitting alone in his empty house, Mickey struggled to breathe. It wasn’t like this was the first time a member of the Milkovich household had bailed. Colin was in jail along with Terry; Svetlana had packed her and Yev’s shit, and left; Mandy was with Kenyatta; who the fuck knew where Iggy was.

Ian’s absence shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

Only, it was. Mickey could feel it in every part of his body, the pain of separation a physical ache. Ian was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. Their conversation had passed in a blur; Mickey could barely remember the excuses Ian had offered as to why he was staying at the Gallagher house instead of here.

He sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the overflowing ashtray. It was the same house. Nothing about its physical appearance had changed. Same threadbare carpet and paint peeling off the walls.

But Mickey missed home.


End file.
